Prologue

“Forgive me father, for I have sinned.”

“Please child, tell me your sins.” Father Deserio said.

This was all so familiar to the old Father Deserio. Every day for twenty years, he had been hearing confessions within these thick walls of the Prontera Church. It was about five forty-five in the afternoon, his time was about up.

“I don’t know how to say this father, but I have killed people.” The raspy, uncertain voice from the other side of the confession box dimly said. “I have killed five, to be exact.”

“Do continue child, the Lord is listening” the priest breathed out.

Murder. Rape. Kidnapping. Assassination. Incest. Homicide. Lust. Thievery. Father Deserio heard it all before. Nothing can shock the old priest any more than trash can litter a landfill. He also reported each and every person who confessed grave sins to him to the knights of Prontera. This was how he helped the world be a better place.

“Just this Monday, I killed a knight.” He breathlessly said. “I asked him for help, see, and he did lead me to the right path. He’s a good man. When he was getting zennies from his bag to give to me, I took his sword. I took his sword father, and I plunged it deep into his bowels. I twisted it, I retracted it and then I plunged it again. He never had a chance to even cry out.”

The vivid narration of the person on the other side certainly caught the priest’s attention. He heard people kill in self defense or by accident or by blacking out, but he never heard of someone who kills for being helped.

“P-Please, continue.” Father Deserio stuttered, he felt cold sweat form on his forehead. He suddenly became uneasy on his ever so familiar seat.

“The following day, Tuesday, I craved for baked yam. I was in the forest of Payon when a hunter picked up the baked yam I’ve hunted for minutes.” He narrated excitedly. “When I told her to give it to me, she did not comply, instead, she mocked me by laughing.”

“W-well, we can’t get anything we want now can we?” the priest asked.

“You see father, I get what I want. I chased after the hunter and when she was within my grasp, I knocked her down the ground.” He said, his voice is more confident now, steadier. “I got an arrow off her back and I stuck it down her throat. I got her bow and I stabbed her with it, just like what I did to the knight.”

“I-i-i… A-and what do you feel about it now?” the father stuttered, clearly uneasy about their discussion.

“To tell you the truth father, my feelings are a bit numb, but please, let me continue, I have much more to confess.” He said, sounding courteous.

“P-please, do continue.” The father said, scared that he might provoke the murderer.

“Wednesday. Ah yes. I was hunting barehanded in Bylan when an assassin disturbed me in my hunt. He gave me a wind dagger, he told me that I would need it if I wanted to live.” His voice now crisp and certain. “All of a sudden, a merman attacked. He told me that I would not be able to handle a merman yet, so he faced the merman alone and he urged me to run away.”

The priest knew what was coming, he tried to cover his ears with his wrinkled hands, but the voice of the murderer was too sure to miss.

“Oooh, I ran alright. But I ran towards him.” he said, now a hint of laughter in his voice. “But, I didn’t stab him this time.”

“Y-you did not? Then what did you do?” the priest was actually relieved that his ears were about to rest from the murder.

“I cracked his head open with the handle of his dagger!” the said while he laughed a deep monotonous laugh. “To tell you the truth, his head wasn’t soft either! It took me five whacks before his brain got to see the outside.”

Monster. He’s a monster. The priest thought.

“Oh, but I’m not yet done. Yesterday was the best day of the week.” The man’s voice was now full and composed. “I met with a blacksmith and his wizard in the clock tower.”

The priest was now too shocked to react. He just nodded every time the murderer paused to wait for a reaction.

“Am I boring you father?” the murderer accusingly said. “Don’t worry, we’ll be done soon. Anyway, I saw them there, laughing at the deviruchi they tamed. They spotted me and they motioned me to come closer, they said they wanted ‘Boogie’, I assume that’s their pet’s name, to meet new people.”

The confessional box was slowly becoming smaller for the priest. His breath was getting faster and shorter as the man spoke. The box was closing in on him and he noticed his cold sweat building on her red satin coat.

“I met Boogie alright.” the murderer darkly said as he bursts into uncontrollable laughter. “I took the deviruchi’s little horn and I shoved the little devil deep into the blacksmith’s denim covered ass. The deviruchi was so shocked he forked everything around him, not knowing that it’s the insides of his master’s bowels! Hahaha! And the wizard! The wizard was fast; he burnt me with a fire bolt he quickly cast. He was about to cast the jupitel thunder, but he was cut short, literally! Hahaha. I slashed his head off with the blacksmith’s bloody axe. His head was cut clean off his body.”

The priest was now in the verge of tears, he was never into battle, nor was he a fan of wars. His enclosed convent life cannot handle this much death.

“Oh, father, you asked what I felt?” he said. “Well, I felt GOOD. I enjoyed every minute of their hardships. I savored the first scream up to the last groan. I was aroused by the blood that showers my hands. But of course, I do have my regrets this week.”

The father summoned up the remaining voice he had left.

“R-reg-regrets?” he said breathlessly “W-What regrets?”

“Well, you see father, it’s Friday and the week is about to end.”

“Y-yes it is.” The priest muttered. “w-what are your thoughts?”

“I never got to kill a priest.” He darkly said with a smile.

CHAPTER ONE

 

The priest’s death in the confessional box shook the whole of Prontera. The pious people of the holy city were shocked out of their boots. Of course it was just not about surprise, the citizens also felt rage and they fed their anger by picking up anyone who looked suspicious in their eyes then they beat him down to a bloody pulp.

The knights and battle priests also wanted to wrap their hands around the killer’s heretic neck. But they can’t act because they had no idea who to hunt down and where to start hunting. The case was forwarded to the Prontera Military Academy (PMA) because of the drastic nature of the crime. Sir Gerard Klaus and Sir Walton Crow, the renowned “case killers” of PMA were assigned to head the investigations.

“Just another day on the job, eh Ger?” his partner, Sir Walton Crow said, as they sweep the church of Prontera for clues.

“This is big Walton, who knows what this killer is up to?” Gerard said in a serious tone. “That demented son-of-a-bitch is out there somewhere, and we’re going to track the devil down.”

“Aw come on Ger! You’re not as young as you used to be. You may be the crime chaser, but that was years ago! You might actually die this time!” Walton said in a feverish voice. “Face it Ger, you’re just too old for this shit.”

Indeed, he looked old. Gerard’s once charcoal black hair was now mixed with strands of grey. His green eyes looked tired and resigned. The wrinkles on his face bore deeper and got longer on his strong noble face each day. His armor clad body did not seem so young anymore, age started to catch up to him and he felt his body groan under the weight of the metal plates. His proud hands that wielded his claymore are calloused and beat. But age did not take away the fact that he was still the best on what he did.

He was used to his friend’s spiel by now; Walton was practically reciting this every time they get a new threatening case. Insulting as they may be, his partners words just melted into his ears.

“Experience is stronger than young muscles, young Walton.” He said in a mock fatherly voice. “You have to learn that age and strength are not everything.”

“I know that! Of course I do, but in a case like this, I mean, come on. We’re dealing with a monster here. He killed a priest… in a church… while confessing!” Walton said, his agitation clearly showed because of his green rumpled hair. “Your experience may come in handy, yes, but you also need strength.”

“You will learn in time, my friend, that the strong can bow down to the weak.” He smiled.

“But in this world, the fittest survive.” Walton retorted.

The aged knight was about to answer back when a gleaming rock in the corner of the confessional box caught his eye. He picked up the stone from the floor and inspected it carefully.

“An evidence! Finally, a break! Well, what is it?” Walton said excitedly.

The knight did not readily believe the stone before his eyes, he could not accept it.

“Well?” his young partner said, concerned by the sudden sullen look of the knight. “What do you think it is?”

“I-it’s a gem.” He said shakily, still in disbelief.

“Yeah, so?”

“It came from a novice armlet.” Gerard said.

“How do you even know that it belonged to the killer? That could belong to any novice’s armlet.” Walton said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Well, there’s this.” Gerard pointed at the stone’s rough surface.

. K ings and warriors and men
. I ll get them all to bend
. L ike moon to the sun
. L ike demons to the gods

. M ore deaths would only mean
. E nd to come in clean

CHAPTER TWO

“I-i.. please, please help me.” A weak childish voice called out from the bushes.

Brauma Vera’s old ears heard the faint voice, but instead of stopping, she just ignored the pleas and continued to walk faster. Her small hunched frame trembled with every step and her rough legs groaned with the sudden change of speed, but the old lady could not care less. All she wanted was to reach her house before night completely covered the woods.

Voices are never good Brauma. Get a grip at yourself; it has been almost thirty years. She said to herself in a reprimanding tone. That bastard child will never go back from the ashes. Even if he did, he could not speak. He did not get a chance to learn how to anyway.
Just like everybody else in Midgard, Brauma kept a secret. A secret so inexplicably horrific, she can’t even get more than a wink of sleep each night. The images of her clandestine were still deeply imbedded in her mind.

It has been thirty years since her daughter brought back a newly born son.

Even so, she could still remember how the baby looked. Her nostrils were still intoxicated by the baby’s smell. She could still feel the satin-like milky skin the baby wore. She could still narrate how the baby danced with the open oven flames.

Just by remembering fragments of the events was enough to make a chill knife cross her spine. To make the feeling go away, she muttered defenses to justify what she did.

She should have never married the colored thief. Oh wait, that’s right, they were never married! She thought angrily. And if ever they got married, I would still refuse to acknowledge the fact that she married a thief, a colored thief at that! How dare they make an unwanted life? Father Deserio, god bless his soul, would have never allowed me to keep a bastard grandson. If I did not get rid of that monster, the Vera’s legacy of respectable acolytes would have been tainted! That was not murder, that wa—

Her train of thought was interrupted by the same small voice she heard just seconds ago.

“P-please, I need your help!” a weak shrinking voice called out. “My wounds, o good gods, please help me.”

A plea to the gods was too much for Brauma to ignore. She turned around sharply and she saw a wounded boy, crawling slowly on the ground. The boy’s naked body that raked the Albertan dirt was burnt out of recognition.

“My lad, what happened to you?” Burma exclaimed in genuine concern. “Who or what did this to you?”

“A bathory, lady. A bathory attacked me. H-her witched starsand… was lit and it exploded… evenly on my… body. Oh thank the gods you’re here!” the boy weakly but gratefully said, his eyes flickered under the cold moonlight.

“A bathory? In Alberta? What has the world turn into?” After a short pause to inspect the boy, she said in a conceding manner. “Come with me, I’ll mend your wounds.” she then picked up the boy with great difficulty, but her shaky hands and legs managed to get the boy off the ground. She carried the boy to her hut in the heart of the woods.

Ever since the baby’s death, she lived in seclusion. The story of the baby eventually spread and all of the conservative people of Prontera shunned her. She was left with nobody to live with and nothing to love. The only thing that kept her going was the thought of hell and how she despised to burn together with the damned.

When they reached her hut, she immediately set the badly wounded boy down her feather bed. She readied the bandages and prepared the medicine needed for burn wounds. She was an acolyte and she could have healed him easily even back in the fields, but age took its toll, and her skills were drained together with her youth.

She started to heat a pot of water on her wide oven. She needed it to sterilize the moldy bandages she had in stock. She shot another look at the wounded novice and she saw that he was not moving, but fortunately, alive.

Brauma worked as fast as her old age would allow. She cut the herbs cleanly and mixed the potion with ease. Her skills may be gone, but her knowledge in medicine is still in tact. Within minutes, the medicine was done. She turned around to face the boy with a smile, to assure him that everything would be alright.

If I save the boy, the gods may forgive me. She thought. I will not burn in hell, I just won’t!

But when she looked at her bed, the boy was gone, leaving just a trail of blood on the straw floor.

“Oi! Where are you off to now?” she called out, nerves took over and her voice shook. “C-come now boy, you don’t want another bathory to burn you, right?”

When she did not receive a single peep, she decided to do the next rational thing; she followed the trail of blood.

Her hut was small, and the light colored straws easily reflected the dark, thick blood. Yet another chill ran through her spine, she remembered that the baby’s blood trail looked similar to that of the boy’s.

She followed the trail to her table, where a knife was deeply buried into the hard wood. Blood drained from her face and her brown eyes widened with fear. She knew the silvery blade, and she knew it well.

It was the same knife she used to cut the baby’s throat to silence it permanently.

“WHAT KIND OF JOKE IS THIS?!” she shouted, now clearly panicked and terrified, tears are now evident in her eyes. “WHO THE HELL ARE YOU? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!” She felt her knees give in, and she then was positioned to kneel. After a few minutes of silence, her heart began to beat fast. Just as fear had gripped her, anger also grasped her heart. Her eyes that showed shock now also burned with rage.

“I-I WAS SORRY! I REGRET TO HAVE EVER LET THE ACCIDENT HAPPEN!” she lied. “IT’S TRUE! I’M SORRY FOR THE ACCIDENT!”

She silently took the knife off her table while she looked around for any sign of the boy. When she was convinced that she was not being watched, she started to follow the trail in a crawl.

I will kill that boy. I will catch him, slit his throat open and shove him in the flames. I will enjoy watching his futile body burn in the fire. No one makes fun of a Vera. She said, her voice oozing with mixed rage and fear.

She noticed the trail of blood grow thicker, which indicated that she was near. She readied the knife in her aged hands as if readying to kill a pig.

The trail stopped short of the oven doors. The orange flames were burning proudly inside the steel confines. But she noticed something appallingly peculiar. She saw movement within the fire.

Curiosity got the best of her and she peered inside the fiery hell. Then without warning, she felt a pair for hands seize her head from within the steel oven.

The fingers bore deep into her elderly skin, the nails scraped her skull. Skin began to peel off her bony face. Hey eyes began to pop and blood flowed out of her nostrils and mouth. The pain was so incredible; Brauma’s screams of agony were inhuman.

She tried to fight the death grip on her skull, but the hands just smashed her head against the black doors of the oven, ceasing any action dead in it’s tracks.

Apparently, the hands were not yet done. It twisted the old lady’s head in a complete rotation and it dragged the lifeless body into the flames.

A dark empty laughter rang throughout the hut as Brauma Vera’s body burned away to hell.

CHAPTER THREE

“The problem with killers today is that they come out clean every time, eh Ger?” Walton impatiently said. “They should give knights a break, you know? We’re the ones working our asses off while they slaughter without problems.”

Gerard Klaus remained silent as they walked through the green forest of Alberta.

“Why are we here anyway? We should let the local guards handle this case. You don’t think our bad-novice-poet did this, do you?” he said, grinning.

The old knight did not know what to think. When the report reached the PMA about the smell of burnt flesh early this morning, he just followed his long time friend, his instincts. This time, it led him to Alberta.

After a few more minutes of trotting, they finally reached the reported place. The hut was an anomaly in the Merchant-City’s woods. Despite the forest’s sharp hue and blinding brightness, the hut stood bland and uninteresting as if challenging woods by showing its defiance. There was no mistake about it, something or someone has been in this hut.

“Oh my phony gawd!” Walton exclaimed as he covered his nose with his manteau. “It smell’s like rotten roasted road kill!”

Little did Sir Walton know how accurate his description was. The stench of burnt flesh was unmistakable. Even before they reached the hut’s borders, the smell was already encircling their noses. But there was something in the musky air that was different, something distinctively evil.

“Watch your mouth Walton, that’s blasphemous.” The knight said. He continued to walk towards the hut, leaving his partner on a spot a few meters back.

“Aw shit, do I have to go in? You go Ger, your experience is more handy than my flawless skill this time.” The black knight said as he waved Gerard to the house.

Gerard shot Walton a dirty look and then he continued on inside. Just as soon as he reached for the semi-burnt door, he felt a tingle scratch his head. Danger was near, and he knew it.

He drew his claymore off its sheath, and held it tightly in his hands, prepared to fight the unknown. He gently kicked the door open and he cautiously proceeded inside.

The interior of the hut is not as bad as it smelled. If not for the obvious burn marks and straw ashes that were all over the room, he’d think the hut was never a scene worth to visit at all.

If there are burn marks all over the place, why didn’t the straw hut burn down? He noted thoughtfully. Maybe I should get Walt—

Movement disturbed the knight’s thoughts. He gripped the finely crafted handle and with deadly precision, swung the sharpened steel as hard as he could towards the disturbance.

“BASH !!”

He waited for the crunching sound of bones and ripping flesh. He knew that he hit his target head on and there was little chance of survival for the receiving end.

CLANK.

Instead of the noise of sword through skin, he felt steel connect to steel; he heard the solid sound of clashing metal; he felt the vibrations run through his hands. He raised his sword once more to strike, but he stopped just as his blade was to slice once more. With a quick glance at his target, he realized that it was not even equipped.

It was an arm. An arm blocked off his mighty bash attack. The apparent forceful arm was connected to a silver haired priest. His stance was unusual for a man of his vocation, his body was built to fight and his face was void of all emotions.

“Kyrie Eleison.” He said blankly when he saw the dumbfounded look on the knight’s face. “Will you put that down or should I take it away from you?” the priest clad in red and black robes asked.

Sir Gerard Klaus plunged the claymore down the straw floor. He looked at the priest carefully, and he immediately recognized the bright green eyes.

“Warse.” He spat.

Only a few priests can block off his bash with a Kyrie Eleison, and Warse is one of them.

“I see, so my reputation did precede me.” The warrior priest said sensing the sourness in his voice. “How are you Sir Klaus?”

“What are you doing here?” the knight snapped. “Why aren’t you with that merchant of yours?”

For a moment, Warse looked as if he might let hell loose on the knight’s shiny ass. His silver hair hinted a deep shade of red, but the priest kept his cool and he calmly said. “Let’s not get her involved here, shall we? Besides, I didn’t come here to be lectured by you.”

Sir Klaus clenched his jaw and looked sternly at Warse. “What then? Tell me what you’re doing in this hut.”

“You are here because you’re investigating the death of that priest Deserio, am I right?” the priest asked.

Gerard just nodded, his eyes still fixed on the priest.

“Right, then, what are YOU doing here? As far as I know, Alberta is still miles away from Prontera.” Warse pointed out, his expression not changing. “Going here just because of a report of burnt flesh seems unusual, don’t you think?”

The knight’s hardened face did not budge; he didn’t even acknowledge the question Warse asked.

“Tell me, case killer, what do you know of the murderer?”

Gerard seemed to contemplate whether to answer the question or not, but he finally gave in and said in a hollow voice. “He’s a novice and he’s a crazy son-of-a-bitch, but he’s not comparable to you though.”

Warse’s eyebrows rose at Gerard’s last comment, but he discarded it just as fast as it came.

“You see, my old friend, there were five more deaths before that priest’s murder. Surely, you have heard of them.” Warse said blankly.

“They were monster attacks. People die when they engage monsters, you of all people should know that.” the knight crisply said.

“The knight’s stomach was stabbed more times than the number of living things in this forest. Twenty-seven silver-tipped arrows were forced through that Huntress’ neck. Fishes don’t break skulls and they don’t eat brains; the assassin in Bylan got his skull split and his brain was taken out. Deviruchies don’t come in the backside of a person to kill. No monster in the clock tower can ever slice a head, clean off a wizard’s shoulders.” The priest stated plainly.

The knight was once again silenced by the priest. He processed the information in his mind, and Warse did make sense.

“Even so, there is no solid proof that he was indeed responsible.” Gerard said in defense. “No one was there when he kills, no witnesses, no eyes no—“

The priest poked the oven doors and exposed the burnt, twisted corpse of Brauma Vera.

“I was there each and every time Gerard.” The priest said enigmatically. “I was here when he did this.”

CHAPTER FOUR

A hunched figure was crouched on a huge red-oak branch. Its eyes were leering at the almost burnt down hut.

There is someone down there. Curious, she can’t still be alive, can she?

The creature lazily jumped from a branch to another, trying to find itself a better view. It spotted Sir Gerard Klaus, frozen on the ground. The creature smiled and the broad smile looked something like a cross between a bawl and a guffaw.

So, the case killer finally came to the rescue! Case killer, hah! No case to kill here knight, better go back to your castle.

It shifted silently from one tree to another, its swift movements unnoticed by the other creatures in the forest. It peeked in the hut again from another angle, this time, the view almost made him slip to the ground.

The priest! The priest is still here! Can’t he find another one to pester? I thought he was a friend, but he never helped. I thought he was the enemy, but he never killed. I thought he is with me, but he doesn’t seem to care.

The creature was frantically pacing on the branch. His eyes darted at a different place every second. He could not keep hold of his fidgeting hand. Control left his panicked body.

What can I do? What should I do? Enlighten me! My mind is your vessel!

It called out silently into the thin forest air, searching for answers in the musky woods.

Yes. I’ll kill him! That would be the answer to my problems. I’ll make him eat those blank eyes that he uses to pierce my back. I’ll hang him by his unmoving tongue. He’ll never look over my shoulders again. He won’t be there to observe me perform my duty.

As humor began to return to its body, it seemed as if it was pushed back violently by an invisible force. Its eyes widened and it looked as if it was experiencing incredible pain in its round head.

NO! I would not… I could not! I am not allowed to. I-I won’t.

The moment it resigned to its senses, the pain waned away, leaving it flat on its back.

While it stared blankly at the sky, a condor hovered past its head. It watched the condor as it diligently feeds its young.

A condor… in Alberta? Oh, that is THE condor.

The creature reached for a fresh leaf and held the stem by its dried fingers. It approached the condor and with unexplainable ease, it sliced the condor evenly from head to butt, producing two condor halves. It took out the condor’s intestines and fed it to the pickies.

Eat now young ones.

It gave out a contented smile.

* * * *

“What in Odin’s name are you doing Ger?” Sir Walton called as he walked in the silenced hut. “Aren’t you finished yet? We have to go-oh my phony gawd!”

“Watch your mouth Sir Walton, that’s blasphemous.” Warse said, and for the first time, he smiled.

The knight set his weapon down and dropped to a kneel. His nostrils still flared because of the smell of the burnt Brauma Vera, but he did not seem to mind the stench at the moment.

“Father Warse! What are you doing here? Rumors of your whereabouts state that you are living in seclusion in Lutie.” Walton excitedly said without looking up.

“Well, I was. Unfor—“ The priest started to answer, but was interrupted by another voice.

“Spare us your tear-jerking story Warse.” Sir Gerard gruffly said, ignoring the shocked looks he got from his partner. “Walton, get up. Your friend was just about to confess. He took part in the killing of Father Deserio, five other murders and this… lady.”

Sir Gerard pointed out to the oven. Walton looked curiously at the burnt iron and his face instantly turned green. The black knight looked as if he was going to revive the pieces of meat and sweet potato he ate for breakfast.

“W-w-what the cramp is that?!” he said. “H-how can Father Warse do this? Surely you jest, Ger.”

“No. No joke there, good knight. Indeed, I am to blame for all these deaths.” Warse said silently.

CHAPTER FIVE

 

Bylan.

27 years ago.

PIERCE !!

A merman dropped dead on the mossy floor of Bylan, its trident broken in half and its body, mutilated. Two men swept the dungeon to track down another serial killer.

“Whoa! I still can’t believe how you can kill a merman with just one pierce. I saw it countless of times but it is just impossible!” A charcoal black haired swordsman exclaimed, his green eyes gleamed in admiration.

“You will learn in time, boy. I’m sure you’ll be a fine knight.” said the knight who rode an aged peco-peco. “I have no doubts! With instincts like yours, you’ll be the best knight the PMA will ever see.”

The swordsman was a knight-in-training in the Prontera Military Academy. It was unorthodox to bring a swordsman along in tracing a criminal, but Sir James Darwind, the leader of the PMA, needed the boy’s uncanny killer-finding instincts.

“I’ll never be as good as you, sir. You are a living legend! The best there is, the best there was and the best there ever will be!” the boy said enthusiastically. “How does it go again? Oh, yeah!”

The swordsman coughed to clear his throat. He was attempting to recite a poem dedicated to Sir James.

He who’s hair is black as night
With eyes of shimmering twilight
Has saintly flair the kings adore
Has godly skills we can’t ignore.

His soul as pure as heaven’s ring
His heart made of golden strings

The Great Sir James Darwind,
The knight whose words are true
The knight who will own you.

The knight flinched upon hearing the latter part of the poem. He was temporarily lost in thought until the swordsman brought him back to reality.

“Well? Well? It’s pretty accurate huh? Those scribes in Payon sure know their verses!” the swordsman said.

“Has godly skills we can’t ignore” the knight repeated grimly. “Watch your mouth boy, that’s blasphemous.”

“B-b-but I di-didn’t…” the boy said, at a loss for words.

The knight smiled at the stuttering swordsman and said “To tell you the truth, the poem was poorly constructed.” Then he gave the boy a wink.

The boy regained his composure when he realized that Sir James was kidding about the blasphemy. The last thing he wanted was to disappoint this knight. Sir James was more than a mentor to him, he’s like the father he never had.

They continued down the dungeon until they reached the bottom floor. They walked towards the underground castle ruins because the swordsman felt something in that area. When they were a few feet from the castle’s stairs, eight penomenas started to attack the pair.

Sir James managed to get seven of the eight penos, but the eighth chased after the panicked swordsman. The boy ran like there’s no tomorrow, unfortunately, he ran into a dead end. He backed down on the cracked wall and he called out for help.

“Help! Sir Darwind! HELP ME PLEASE!!” the boy shouted, but with no avail. The knight was still fighting off the penomenas that were now joined by five more mermen. Even though Sir James was being ganged upon, the knight wore a mischievous smirk in his strong face.

The peno that was after the swordsman was dangerously close. Its tentacles were flailing violently into the air destroying every thing within range.

God, please god. No, not yet. Please god o god o god o god… the swordsman cried in his corner. His uncontrollable sobs were music to the monster’s ears. The monster started to raise its tentacles again to strike; all the swordsman did was close his eyes and waited for his death.

Death never came for the young swordsman. When he did not feel the tentacles of the penomena, he reluctantly opened his eyes. To his surprise, he saw a hand sink into the penomena’s scaly body and when it was drawn back, the innards and the monster’s tentacles came with it. Gooey green blood splattered all over the sea floor.

“Stay put, I have a duty to attend to.” the man in an acolyte’s wardrobe said. His silvery locks moved together with the water and his green eyes looked disturbingly empty. Without saying another word, the warrior started to walk towards Sir James Darwind.

The swordsman was too shocked to react. It seemed as if his body has shut down and any kind of movement was impossible. He tried to open his mouth to speak, but no words came out. All he could do was watch.

Sir James was finishing up the monsters when the acolyte walked straight at him. Just as soon as the last merman dropped dead on the floor the acolyte spoke.

“Sir James Darwind, you know my purpose.” he said flatly.

The knight, who was still pumped with adrenaline, looked surprised to see the acolyte by his side. He set his wind lance down and inspected the silver haired man.

“Warse.” he said in surprise. “Is it time? Do I have to go now?”

“I am afraid so, my old friend. You knew it’s me who you’ll find here.” He said, looking deep into the knight’s eyes. “Do you have any last words, any last requests?”

“You are a good man, Warse. I know that, you know that. That’s why you got this job in the first place.” Sir Darwin said. “You know better. I just want you to remember who you are and analyze what you’re doing. You’ll know what to do in time.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” the acolyte said blankly. “Now, if you will…”

The knight got off the peco-peco and patted its feathery back. “You have served me well my friend, but I’m afraid this is the end of the road for me.” The peco-peco seemed to understand what his master was trying to say, yet it stood its ground by the knight.

The knight smiled weakly at his loyal servant. “If it’s not much trouble, can I take my peco-peco with me? He’s old, see, and I don’t think he’ll be going anywhere.” The knight said, in the verge of tears.

The acolyte nodded. He took out his wooden cross as he readied to strike.

“Oi! Gerard! Take care of yourself boy. Live! You’ll be a fine knight, mark my words!” Sir James called out, tears evident in his eyes. “Take care of yourself, son.”

Gerard Klaus was crying furiously now, he wanted to come by his mentor’s aid, he wanted to keep him from getting hurt, he wanted him to live. But even though he willed it, his body remained unmoving. He could not do anything but watch his loved knight’s fall.

With one fluent movement, Warse attacked. His cross-bearing hand plunged deep into the knight’s chest, burying the wooden icon deep into his heart. The once strong Sir James Darwind now staggered helpless on the castle gates. His piercing eyes were wide and bloodshot; his majestic limbs dangled down his sides; his robust legs collapsed under his armor’s weight; his proud, sinful soul gave in to the open arms of death.

CHAPTER SIX

“You killed them Warse, just how you killed my master!” Sir Gerard shouted at the priest. His claymore now pointed accusingly at Warse’s heart. “I will kill you, priest!”

Warse remained silent despite the sharpened blade pointed at his chest. His eyes did not hint any kind of emotion. His expression was still blank. They stayed like that for a few seconds as if frozen to the ground. The deathly silence of the hut was ended by Sir Walton’s nervous voice.

“H-hey n-now. What a-are you t-talking ‘bout Ger? F-father Warse could not have k-killed THE great James Darwind! He died 27 years ago! The priest was probably an acolyte back then! Nobody can kill the James Darwind that easy! Come on Ger! Put your weapon down. Let’s be reasonable here.”

“Do not speak of what you do not know.” the aged knight said sternly. “I was there when this… this murderer fought with my master. I was there when he punched a hole though his chest. I was there Walton, but I could not do anything. I was weak; I was just a weak foolish boy. I should have given my life for him; I should have thrown my body in the way of the attack. I should have died instead of him. He could have stopped this maniac from doing any more killing if only I have bought him time.”

“I did not fight him.” Warse said. “If we did fight, I would have died in Bylan. Even with the extraordinary power bestowed upon me back then, he could have killed me easily, I am still human. I was able to kill him because he gave himself up, he knew what my duty was and he accepted it with all his heart.”

The knight put down his claymore, tears ran down his cheek. “Why Warse? Why did you kill him? He never did you wrong. He was a knight for crying out loud! He was the most valiant, caring and loving knight to ever live. WHY DID YOU HAVE TO KILL HIM!?”

The priest cleared his throat as he prepared to tell his tale.

* * * *

He is going to expose us! the slouched miserable pile of what may seem life flesh thought. My lord, we must do something! The blasphemer must die!

The pickies on the straw nest were now chirping wildly. They sensed the growing panic in the figure that fed them their mother’s insides. Their fragile beaks were bucking violently and their little wings flapped without direction. But even with all the noise and movement the pickies made, it paid no heed to the little birds.

It dropped down silently on the ground, falling from a height of more than ten meters. Its slimy body slithered on the grassy floor. It was more than two hundred yards from the hut, but its sharp ears can still hear the men’s conversation.

NOOO! He can’t! he can’t tell them! The sanctity of my duty should not be known! Let me kill him my lord! I will put an end to that heretic priest!

A steady breeze hit the being’s face. From exasperation, it’s expression became a sulk.

My apologies… I never thought it… forgive me…

Silence followed. The being was still as it listened intently to the conversation at hand. It was so engrossed to the discussion that it did not notice a wizard approach.

“Excuse me, miss, but can you please direct me to Alberta? I am lost. My old age got the best of me.” the old wizard cheerfully said. The old man wore a dirty tattered robe and carried an antique looking bone wand. His eyes smiled at the figure together with his lips.

The figure was shocked, yet entertained. It eyed the wizard and inspected him closely. After his check up, the figure gave out a sigh, it seemed irritated and disappointed.

“Sire, it will be my pleasure to escort you to town.” It said, it’s voice heavy and displeased. “Follow me, I will show you the way.”

The figure tore it’s ears away from the spiel of Warse. It slowly stood up and started to walk with the old man.

After some minutes of walking, the figure stopped in it’s tracks to face the aged wizard.

“Alberta is just over the hill” it pointed. “This is where I will leave you, you can manage from here.”

“Oh thank you so much for helping an old man! May the gods bless you in your journeys! I want to give you a reward.” The old man said excitedly as he reached for zeny in his run down robes. “Forgive me, this is only 500 zeny, but it is all I have. Please, take it with my gratitude.”

The figure looked at the old man, then the pouch of zeny, then back at the old man. It smiled a cold smile and it reached in it’s own robes.

“Sire, please. Keep your money.” It said politely. “I do not need a reward for such a short walk.”

“Oh thank you kind novice.” The wizard said as he started to turn his back to the figure.

“Hold on.” It said. It’s smile wider and much colder. “I want to give you this.”

The figure’s hand that was in the robes produced a small scaly bag. The creature weighed it in it’s hands and then threw it at the old wizard.

The bag landed before the wizard’s sandal clad feet.

“That is ten thousand zeny. You’ll need it, old man. This is the merchant-city after all.” He said. “Please, live in peace.”

The figure then ran back to the hut in silence.

* * * *

“Do you know who James Darwind was, Gerard?” the priest asked the knight. “Please, tell me what you know about him.”

Gerard Klaus’ face was still red with rage. His teeth were grinding together; his cheeks were trembling as he eyed Warse. He can’t think of anything else but to kill the priest.

“I know that he was the best knight Midgard has ever seen. I know that he was loved by all. I know that he helped people when they are in trouble. I know that he saved lives. I know that he is the purest, god loving knight to ever live. I know that he was the best mentor a person can have. I know that he could have been a great father.” Sir Gerard strongly said through gritted teeth, emphasizing on the word know every line.

“Yes, that’s true.” The priest said silently. “But what about when he was young? Do you know who he was back then?”

Gerard Klaus was once again stumped. Surely, he knew who Sir James was, but he did not know anything more than that. The knight did not talk much about his past. He was always secretive about the events in his days as a swordsman. Gerard settled down and shook his head. He did not know anything about the James as a boy.

Warse closed his eyes and nodded. For the first time, he showed understanding and concern. He explained, “The family of James Darwind belonged to a notorious group of assassins, the Krakens. The Krakens—“

“--are the meanest sons-of-bitches to ever grace the world.” The almost forgotten Sir Walton blurted out. “Holy Shit! The Krakens kill with hands, right? They are the only known assassins who kill without weapons! Well, not really, they usually have something wooden or metal in their hands and they make a hole in their enemy’s chest with it! Oh god, the Krakens… but, the Krakens did not really exist, right? I mean, they are just rumors, tattletales to scare juvenile delinquents!” His eyes were darting back and forth from Gerard to Warse. This new piece of information certainly exited the black knight.

Warse just smiled at Walton’s eagerness. “Yes, Sir Walton, the Krakens are true. They were organized even before your grandfather’s grandfather’s father’s birth. The Krakens are the best of the best, the cream of the crop. They are merciless and they kill when they are displeased. Nobody in Midgard was able to match the Krakens. Knights bow down, wizards kneel and hunters weep. Anyway, their clan has an internal political system and Sir James’ family was the leader of the Krakens.”

Sir Klaus stared blankly at the burnt straw ground. He did not show skepticism, nor did he show acceptance. He just looked dead.

“Only the men in the family became certified Kraken assassins.” Warse continued. “The women were usually used for reproducing, for giving birth. They were never allowed to be assassins. The Mildews, James’ family, only had James as their successor. They want James to take over as the leader of the Krakens. See, the Mildews were the Krakens of the Krakens. They got the respect they deserved; they were feared by all the others. James, even during his childhood, showed great talent and was truly a rightful heir to the throne. When James was eight, he started to train to be a Kraken assassin.”

The priest paused for a moment, trying to remember all the details of the story. Then he looked at the two knights who were listening to him. Walton was impatient; he kept pacing around the hut, while Gerard was still staring at the straw floor.

“Right.” Warse said. “Here’s where things get interesting.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Morroc Pyramids

James Mildew: 8 years old

“Move your feet James!” a voice boomed. “Watch those isis! Always be aware of their attacks. NO YOU IDIOT! DON’T STRIKE HIM YET! Kill the bugs first!”

James Mildew’s breathing was hard and irregular. Blood flowed from his badly wounded head down to his black cotton shirt. His whole body was covered with silver blood from the monsters beneath the sandy pyramids. His legs were weak and his arms were ready to give up.

“FATHER! I-I CAN’T! I-I-I, FATHER! GIVE ME MY KNIFE, PLEASE!” James pleaded while running away from the mob of isis. He looked over to his tall, cold-faced father with teary eyes, but no help came.

“FOOL! DO YOU THINK THAT YOU’D BE ABLE TO HANDLE THE KRAKENS WITH THAT ATTITUDE? WE DON’T RUN JAMES, WE KILL!” his father shouted back at his battered son. “THIS IS THE FINAL TEST JAMES! COMPLETE THIS AND TOMORROW WILL BE YOUR DAY OF REBIRTH.”

This was the eleventh month of his novice-hood. He has been going through extensive training with his father to become a true kraken. His training started just the day after he turned eight, exactly 364 days ago. James suffered under his father’s hands. Draco, James’ father, is the most feared assassin in the Krakens, his methods were unorthodox and his style was concise.

James never killed a poring in his life. When the first day of his training came, his father dragged him to the boundaries of the assassin guild and he left James with the sandmen. Draco was confident about his son. He knew that James was different, he was one of a kind, and he felt the untapped power in his son’s veins.

Of course, James was not aware of his father’s methods or of his father’s knowledge about him. He did not think that he was somebody special; he did not know the power he can draw out. For James, the training was nothing more than a mere representation of his father’s dead love.

Does he want me dead? Can’t he see that his son is dying? Will he just let me be? I HATE HIM.

BLAG

An isis dropped dead on the floor.

Why can’t he love his own son? Am I expandable like his other assassins?

BLAG

Another isis fell, her chest bore a hole wide enough for a mummy to fit through.

I am his son! Are the Krakens more important than his own flesh and blood?

BLAG

The last of the isis turned into another bloody mess.

My father is heartless. I hate him and I will kill him. I’ll shove that righteous cold face of his down his throat.

The purple bandaged mummy now stood in his path. It’s golden crown gleamed under the fiery torch light. Despite it’s bandaged head, the rage in it’s face was unmistakable. It started to walk towards the novice, murder in it’s strides.

“James, here, you’ll need your knife. Grasp it in your hands, then strike.” His father called to him. “James! Get your knife now! You won’t be able to strike clean barehanded! The Osiris is not a normal monster! JAMES!”

James’ ears were red with rage. He couldn’t hear anything else but the voice in his head screaming “KILL HIM”. James did not reach for his knife. When he broke into a run towards the Osiris, his father threw the knife in his path, but he took no heed. His eyes were focused on the Osiris and his mind was clouded with fury.

James leapt ten feet into the air, curled his hand into a fist and aimed straight at the deranged Osiris.

* * * * *

James woke up to find himself back on his bed in the castle of the Krakens. He saw his mother, Drea weeping by his side. He found his room empty, only the four-poster bed remained in the huge room. He looked questioningly at his weeping mother and tapped her on her shoulders.

“What is happening nana? Where are all my things? Why are you crying? Where is father?” he asked weakly.

Drea was shocked to see the boy talking to her, instead of answering, she hugged the boy tightly and she cried some more.

“What’s wrong nana?” James asked, worry showed in his voice. “Is father ok?”

“James! You’re alive! Thank Odin you’re alive!” Drea exclaimed. “Here, eat! Eat the food I prepared for you. I’ve been making your favorite dish for a week now, hoping that one day, you’ll be able to eat it!”

“A week? I was asleep for a whole week?” he asked.

“Yes, yes. But please, eat first.” Drea said.

James ate the freshly cooked meat and baked yam. He felt his body go strong as the food rejuvenated his body. When he was done, he turned back to Drea, ready to ask more questions.

“Nana, what is—“

“James, put your clothes on, we are going out. Please hurry.” She cut James, handing him his fresh cotton shirts and his knife. “We have to get out of here.”

“I don’t understand. Nana, is everything ok?” he said as he put on his clothes.

“Things WILL be ok son, just hurry up and let’s go.”

When he finished dressing up, Drea took her son’s hand and led him to a stride out the door. Drea kept James hushed; she did not allow the boy to even speak a word. They evaded the guards in the hallway as they made their way out of the castle. When they reached the back door, Draco appeared up front.

“Father! What’s goin—“

James was silenced by his father’s quick movements. He watched in shock as he saw his father grab Drea’s head forcefully. Draco threw Drea to the other side of the room.
“Useless woman. That’s why women aren’t allowed to be Krakens.” He spat.

He looked at the shocked boy beside him. He knelt down to see him face to face.

“You’ve grown strong in just a year. I must say, I am impressed. I am rather proud to have you as my own flesh and blood.” Draco said coldly. “You completed the Kraken training in a year, a task that could not even be done in ten. You were not supposed to kill the Osiris, James. It was just a test of your bravery. I was supposed to step in to save you, to get you out, but you killed him in one strike. Experienced assassins can’t even take an Osiris one on one, but you did, and you’re just a novice.”

James eyes darted from his father, to his mother and back to his father. He did not know what to do. He could not understand the events that took place.

“Ah, yes, your mother.” Draco sneered. “You see, James. You’re strong, and I never thought it possible, but you are TOO strong. Even if you are my son, I must end it all now.”

He could not believe what he heard. He could not move as well, James was paralyzed from head down. He could not believe that his father was about to kill him.

“James, again, I want you to know that I am proud to have you as a son. Because I treasure you so much, I waited for you to wake up so that you can witness this event. You are stronger than me and your strength is a threat, it is your curse. Forgive me James, but you’ll have to die.”

Draco drew a grimtooth from his coat. He held it tightly on his right hand and he attacked.

But his weapon did not connect; he was stopped halfway because of the unbearable pain in his side. When he looked down, he saw Drea, plunging a damascus deep into his side.

“Bitch.” He whispered. With one effortless strike, he hit Drea with his hand, creating a huge hole on her torso. Blood showered the Mildews and chunks of flesh flew all around the room.

“Tch, what a mess. Oh, right.” Draco drew another grimtooth from his coat. “Goodbye James.”

* * * *

“Well? What then?” Walton asked Warse excitedly. “Did Draco kill James? What? What happened?”

Gerard Klaus looked up from the ground for the first time and he glanced irritably at Walton. “Idiot.” He whispered.

Warse still looked blank and emotionless. He just stared at Gerard intently, as if reading a rough inscription in a tablet.

“Well, Sir Walton, James Darwind became a knight didn’t he? I don’t think he died there in the Kraken mansion.” Warse said.

“Oh. Right. I’m sorry, everything was just so unreal. Well, what happened then? He got away?” Walton asked.

“Why are you telling us this Warse? What’s the point of all this gibberish?” Gerard said calmly, but skepticism was clear in his voice.

“Well, Gerard, I was just about to get there. James Darwind killed his father. Just after his mother’s murder, he exploded, he just went berserk.” Warse said. “I never saw the incident for I wasn’t born yet, but I can just imagine the havoc.”

“Hold on! How can James do that? He’s a novice for crying out loud! I know he was strong, but not that strong!” Walton exclaimed.

“Oh but he did. I am not aware what happened next, but the PMA just found the Kraken castle destroyed and all the Kraken assassins dead, together with the guards, maids, children, animals… everything.” The priest said quietly. “All of them had the Kraken trademark, the big hole in the chest. The knights thought that nobody survived the incident, but they did find a survivor, just one survivor in the ruins. He was found unconscious, wounds plagued his body, he was covered with a thick coat of blood, his cotton shirt and pants barely covered his body.”

The priest saw Walton’s mouth open up, but he cut him short and added, “Yes Walton, that was James.”

Gerard was clearly irritated by the story Warse was telling him. He couldn’t accept the fact Warse was implying. “You lying bastard. How could something like that happen without the whole Midgard knowing the news? It’s impossible! The PMA couldn’t cover up something like that! And what then? Are you implying that James killed all the Krakens and all those innocent people?”

Without flinching, Warse continued to talk. “One. You underestimate the power of the PMA. I’m sure you’ve heard of the Bylan ferry incident?”

“Yes! Of course!” Walton butted in. “It was when the biggest ferry in Midgard was stolen. They never found it though, right? Rumors say that it sank down to Hel.”

“You are well informed of your history, huh Walton?” Warse said with a faint smile. “Yes, it was stolen, but not really. The PMA got the ship and dumped all the bodies there. Then it was buried deep inside Bylan.”

“Illogical. That thing could not be moved! It was bigger than Izlude! Please, spare us your lies, Warse.” Gerard said angrily.

“It was warped there Gerard, and it was not easy. It took twenty experienced PMA priests to do that.” “Warse explained with a sigh. “Anyway, two. I am not implying anything, I am telling you that James killed them all.”

“You lie! How can you even know all of these? You weren’t even born yet!” Gerard shouted.

“The same reason how he knew.” Warse said silently as he pointed at the roof.

Gerard and Walton just stared in shock, as a dark figure dropped down through the straw ceiling.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“W-Warse?” Gerard said in disbelief. The figure that dropped down from the ceiling was Warse, or at least something like him.

The new arrival straightened his pale-orange acolyte robe as he stood up. His silver hair was short and freshly cut. The cold green eyes were certainly Warse’s. Even in his steady state, that Warse looked defined and commanding.

“WHAT-IN-LOKI’S-NAME-IS-GOING-ON-HERE?!” Walton said, his sword already drawn out, his shield prepared to smite the man clad in yellow robes. “WARSE?!”

“It is your time Gerard Klaus. I am here for you.” The acolyte said, ignoring the black knight completely. “But, you already know that, don’t you?” he then shot a bloody glance at the priest.

Gerard Klaus was still in shock. His eyes were wide and teary; his mouth, agape. This was the Warse he saw twenty seven years back in Bylan. The same Warse who saved his life, the same Warse who claimed James’ soul.

The priest was still in his corner, he silently watched as the events unfold before his eyes. He knew of the coming, he knew of his coming.

“O.K., let’s get right to business, shall we?” the acolyte said as he drew a katana that looked like a replica of the sword Gerard used to carry as a swordsman. If not for the small cross on the handle, he would think that it was the same sword.

The acolyte Warse took a deep breath, and exhaled into a ear-shattering scream as the katana made it’s way to the back of Gerard’s neck.

“KYRIE ELEISON!” The priest shouted. A silver barrier was formed around the still wide-eyed knight. “Not yet!” Warse shouted at the acolyte, his face was burning red.

The acolyte looked at Warse, and he seemed offended, yet strangely amused.

“What are you doing? You know more than this! You are defying Odin if you defy me. You wouldn’t want to invoke the anger of the Aesir.” The acolyte said smugly, his smirk beamed brightly at Warse.

“Not yet.” He repeated.

Sir Gerard snapped back into his senses. He was now backing away from the acolyte. “W-What? Who are you? What’s going on?!”

“I must tell you now why I killed James Darwind.” Warse hurriedly said at the pale knight. “You must know the truth behind my mission.”

Sir Walton came to the aid of his partner. He stood between the acolyte and Gerard. His shield up front and his weapon hidden behind the crafted metal. “I got you covered Ger, I’ll hold him.”

The acolyte sneered at the black knight. But instead of continuing on, he just sat down the floor near the burnt body of Brauma Vera. He looked at her as if appreciating his work.

“James Darwind was a good man.” Warse told Gerard. “He truly was the kind-hearted knight you speak of. He protected the weak and he fought for the greater good. But what he did to those people in the Kraken castle could not be ignored.” Warse paused while he checked on the knight. Gerard seemed to be taking in all the words without objections.

“Gerard, I was commission by the Aesir. I was once asked to cleanse the world of bad elements. I killed people who committed mortal sins, in order to give them salvation. At least, by my hand, their souls would not be left eternal torment and damnation. That was my job, my mission, my god-given duty.” Warse explained breathlessly. “But, because of the event in Bylan with James, I ceased to be the death-bringer, my duty as god-hand was over.”

Gerard was dumbfounded. He did not know what to say or do. He processed the information he got from the priest and the he blurted out.

“I-if he’s the god-hand now, then why is he after me? Why are YOU after me? I have never done anything wrong, I never killed anyone without a true reason! I lived a life of service, just like my mentor!”

Warse looked at Gerard Klaus’ deep, green eyes. His stature seemed weak and fragile now unlike his previous stance. Warse showed great pain in his face as he tried to conjure up the words from his heart.

“You see Gerard Klaus,” He whispered at the knight’s throbbing ears. “you killed me.”

* * * *

Bylan

27 years ago


“Oi! Gerard! Take care of yourself boy. Live! You’ll be a fine knight, mark my words!” Sir James called out, tears evident in his eyes. “Take care of yourself, son.”

Gerard Klaus was crying furiously now, he wanted to come by his mentor’s aid, he wanted to keep him from getting hurt, he wanted him to live. But even though he willed it, his body remained unmoving. He could not do anything but watch his loved knight’s fall.

With one fluid movement, Warse attacked. His cross-bearing hand plunged deep into the knight’s chest, burying the wooden icon deep into his heart. The once strong Sir James Darwind now staggered helpless on the castle gates. His piercing eyes were wide and bloodshot; his majestic limbs dangled down his sides; his robust legs collapsed under his armor’s weight; his proud, sinful soul gave in to the open arms of death.

Warse looked down at the fallen knight and shook his head. “Goodbye my old friend, may the gods be with you.”

Gerard Klaus just witnessed the death of his mentor. The sudden murder hurt him more because James Darwind was also like a father to him. He couldn’t believe how easily the strongest knight in Migard fell into the hands of an acolyte.

He k-killed S-Sir James! He thought. He killed Sir James! Sir James who did not do anything! The noble Sir James! HE KILLED SIR JAMES!

He felt the strength return to his knees. He felt the power return to his hands. He felt his brain jump start back to reality. He felt the searing anger in his blood. He felt the surge of energy run down his spine.

KILL HIM. I WILL KILL KIM. James gravely thought. He picked up his katana and he walked towards the acolyte in prayer.

Warse felt him approach; he knew that it will all come to this. His duty was done and he should be off to the next, but his heart bound him down to the last words of James Darwind.

You are a good man, Warse. I know that, you know that. That’s why you got this job in the first place. You know better. I just want you to remember who you are and analyze what you’re doing. You’ll know what to do in time.

He contemplated silently on the situation he is in. He knew that he has to make a decision some time or another.

Is this right? Am I really doing something good? Are the Aesir as vicious as they are generous? Am I to be bound in this life forever? Don’t people deserve another chance at life?

Gerard Klaus was drawing near now. His small hands gripped the iron handle so tight that it bore red marks on the swordsman’s little hands.

DIE! MURDERER! KILLER! I WILL KILL YOU! MURDERER! KILLER! DIE! Gerard thought.

Warse was still silent in meditation. He can now feel the heat the swordsman’s body radiates, but he still continued on to his prayer.

Will it be worth it? Is that really how it goes? How about him? Did he not deserve a second chance? Is it really that one-sided? Are there other reasons? Can’t there be any other redemption? Why do they have to die?

MURDERER! I WILL KILL YOU! DIE! KILLER!

How is this right? They lived a new life of love, a life of faith…

KILLER! DIE! I WILL KILL YOU!

Is it? Is this how things go?

I WILL KILL YOU! Gerard raised his katana high into the air and screamed a piercing deathly scream. “I WILL KILL YOU!”

Warse opened up his eyes, “I have made my decision.” he muttered.

Right after that sentence, he felt sharp steel connect at the back of his head.

Once again, blood painted the wet sea floor of Bylan.

CHAPTER NINE

“I don’t remember… I didn’t do that… I would know…” Gerard said. Shock left his system and he was regaining his sanity slowly.

“You did. But you blacked out, just like your master when he killed the Osiris.” Warse said. “We all have that drive within our hearts Gerard. Great power is released if the strong emotions are combined with great intellect. You managed to draw out that power, and you killed me with it.”

“T-this doesn’t make any sense. You are here now, aren’t you? You’re alive!” he reasoned.

“Odin willed it. He felt like he owed me, so call this rebirth my paycheck. I’ve been under the Aesir’s service for some months before James’ execution. All those unsolved cases before were caused by me. I killed them, and James was onto my trail. He knew what was happening.” Warse said, and he paused and his mind seemed to wander off. “He was a great guy, that James. He knew that it was me, and he could have killed me in countless occasions, but he didn’t. He knew that he sinned gravely and he accepted his fate with open arms.”

“I don’t get it Warse, if James blacked out when he killed the Krakens, how did he know that he committed all those murders?” Walton asked.

Warse was about to answer but the acolyte interrupted him. “It’s simple really, black knight, it’s because James Darwind did not black out. He killed them all with his vengeful heart. That’s why pretty boy priest there had to kill him.”

Gerard’s expression changed instantly to anger. “Shut up! You don’t know anything about James Darwind! Shut-up you self righteous son-of-a-bitch!” he snapped.

The acolyte just laughed at the enraged knight, Gerard tried to engage the acolyte, but Warse stopped him. “He’s right. James was self-conscious when he killed all those people. And he knows everything Gerard,” Warse said as he pointed at the acolyte. “He is granted sight by the gods.”

“Can we all stop this talking?” the acolyte Warse asked. He was casting several heal spells at the burnt Burma Vera, toying with her to keep himself entertained. “I have a tight schedule, you know?”

“Then why is he in your image twenty seven years back? I thought we were after a novice?!” said Walton, his voice shaky as the acolyte approached them.

“He kills in the image of the dead, Walton.” Gerard was about to speak, but Warse beat him to it. “You saw me in my image, Gerard, because James killed hundreds of people, it won’t be reasonable to shift into all of them. But you saw it, I killed James exactly how he killed the others, the Kraken way.”

“Hand them the info sheets, why don’t you?” the acolyte said, as he began to shift into another form. “You’re telling them the secret of the Aesir, you will not be left unpunished, you know?” by the time he finished his sentence, he was now dressed in blue and gold, he clearly was an advanced novice.

“You look at me as if I’m the bad guy here, but it’s the opposite! Exactly the opposite!” He said with a smile. “I don’t kill innocent people! My pure heart just won’t have any of it.”

“You don’t because you can’t.” Warse irritably said. “I’ve seen you try to kill me a few times, but the Aesir won’t allow you. You can’t claim innocent lives, else you’ll be destroyed.”

The super novice clapped his hands mockingly at Warse, and then he bowed down low, as if bowing to a king. “I’m so sorry, your majesty. Hahaha. Please, shut up priest, if you know what’s good for you.”

Walton was still clearly confused. “This doesn’t add up! You killed Father Diserio! You killed this woman! These are innocent people! You’re a fiend, not a god-hand!”

“You don’t know anything about your loved priests?!” he said in false shock. “Wake up, boy! That ‘innocent’ priest of yours raped altar-boys! He raped them in the confessional, and then he dumped them like discarded pieces of trash in Lutie, where he left them naked to die of cold or be dinner to a sasquatch! This woman? This woman burned a baby, you fool. She slit the baby’s throat, she snapped it into two and then she left it in the oven to cook! You stupid boy.”

The room quieted down. No one spoke and moved.

“Okay, time to die knight.” The novice said in a chirpy voice. “We’ve wasted so much time.”

The mood was heavy in the hut. The spirits of the beings were dampened, save for one man, the god-hand. In contrast to the others, he was cheerful.

“Well, this is the first time I get to kill as myself.” He said. “I usually capitalize on surprise.”

Sir Gerard Klaus drew the claymore that was plunged to the ground. He felt anger, but he seemed weak, he felt powerless. He was always a pious man, fighting for the good, for the will of the Aesir, for the well being of Midgard. He never thought that he’d be against the orders of the Aesir. He raised his claymore reluctantly; he can’t seem to make up his mind.

Walton, on the other hand, was prepared for battle. His feet were fixed on the ground; his legs were prepared to lunge; his sword was pointed directly at the novice and his shield was clutched tightly in his hands.

Warse watched, just like how he did before. He stood silent in a corner, his face was back to what it was, void of all emotions. His green eyes observed the novice’s every move.

“If you just give in, Gerard, then it will be easier for the both of us.” The novice said as he took a step closer. “You’ll die either way, so why don’t you just come in peace? Isn’t that right, Warse?”

Warse didn’t move, he didn’t speak, he just watched.

“Hmmmm, back to your spectator mode, eh priest? Suit yourself. I guess all these killings get you off, huh? You never failed to miss a session.” The novice laughed lightly.

“Shut-up bitch, I’m going to smoke your white-ass.” Walton said, preparing to strike.

The novice smiled broadly at Walton. “Oh, really now? Well, why don’t you take your shot? Strike clean, black boy.” The novice taunted Walton. His hands were signaling Walton to attack. “Give it your all!”

With a final sneer, Walton pounced at the smirking novice.

Gerard screamed in protest, Warse stared in shock, the novice laughed in delight.

It all happened fast, too fast. The novice met the knight’s blade head on. Walton’s silver blade pierced the novice’s throat clean. Walton twisted the buried metal and streams of dark blood gushed out of the novice’s throat. Then the knight brought the sword down to the novice’s waist; the novice’s body was split wide open; internal organs flopped out. Finally, the black knight drew out the blade and the novice’s body fell down to the straw ground with a bloody smack.

“I-it’s over Ger, n-nothing to worry a-about now. You’re free Ger!” Walton said, a little out of breath.

Gerard was still in disbelief, he couldn’t believe that it really is through. “Y-yes, I, I guess, that’s that.” he said shakily. He started to put the claymore back to it’s sheath, when Warse’s movement got his attention.

Warse drew out an elaborate looking swordmace covered with dried blood. He held the weapon threateningly at the two knights.

“It’s not over yet.” He silently said.

Indeed, it wasn’t over.

Without warning, a spear fell from the sky. It hit the fallen novice squarely on the head with a sickening crack. Walton and Gerard were once again speechless. They just looked at the spear in awe.

This was no ordinary spear, for this spear boasted a holy light. This spear was not crafted in Prontera, this spear was…

“Gungnir!” Warse said. “Prepare yourselves… prepare for the end.” His swordmace was trembling in his hands. Warse showed fear.

“G-Gungnir?! Odin’s spear?! This is impossible!” Walton shouted. “This cannot be happening, it is simply impossible!”

The Gungnir hummed a deathly tone. It vibrated softly at first, but as the seconds passed, it’s vibrations made the ground shake, sending the knights to the floor. It was as if the spear was waking up something asleep. Then, they realized that it was waking up the dead novice.

The deformed being slowly stood up. His head was completely destroyed, only the right eye was showing, the left part of the face was completely crushed. Pieces of shattered skull flaked away from the mutilated head. His body was still wide open; blood continuously flowed out of his slashed body. His movement was unnatural because of the broken bones.

The spear blasted the novice with a holy light, engulfing the novice in it’s pureness. The light was too bright for the knights to bear. They had to look away from the spear because of it’s blinding rays. But Warse looked on, his stance was solid, he was prepared to fight.

When the light finally subsided, the novice came back into full view. He held his head high; the smirk was now brighter than it was before. He looked at Walton and he said, “That hurt.”

The knights were stuck on the floor. Moving proved to be impossible. They are in another spell of shock.

The novice moved closer to Walton. He was moving slowly, savoring every step towards his target. When he was standing over the black knight, he bent over to brush away the dirt on his shoe.

“You see what happens when you go against the hand of a god? Well, at least now you know. You won’t make another mistake like that again won’t you?” He asked Walton softly, but when Walton refused to answer, he shouted at him. “WELL?! YOU WON’T DO IT AGAIN, WON’T YOU?!”

Walton shook his head violently, telling the novice that no, he will not do it again.

The novice smiled a contented smile and he stood up straight. “Good, good.” He said. He started to turn around, he looked as if he was going to walk away, but he added. “I’ll just make sure you won’t.”

With that, the novice spun around to execute a swift kick at the side of the knight’s limb. Walton screamed in agony as the kick shattered his right arm. He tried to reach for his sword, but his hand will not move.

The novice kicked once more, this time, it hit the ribs of the knight. The sound of twisted metal combined with an animalistic scream filled the air. The armor was bent and it pushed through the body of Walton, it wounded the knight deeply and it snapped his ribs like twigs.

The novice looked down at the writhing knight. “Do you know how it feels like to get squashed by the Gungnir? Well, fortunately for you, I’ll let you taste it. I don’t know if this is as effective, but hey, I assure you, it will be close.” He said monotonously.

The novice stood beside Walton’s head. He spat at the knight first and then he raised his foot. “Die.”

“NOOOOOOOO!” Warse shouted, he flung his swordmace directly at the novice, but he just caught it midair.

“Oh, so you’ve decided to fight?” The novice asked. He suddenly brought his foot down, directly at the head of the knight with tremendous force. The loud breaking of the skull deafened Warse and Gerard.

He killed him. He killed him. Murderer. He killed him. Gerard repeated in his mind.

Walton’s eyeballs rolled clumsily on the ground, following the flow of the small river of blood. Chunks of flesh and brains splattered around the body.

“Okay.” The novice said darkly as he looked at the priest and the knight “Who’s next?”

Warse was shaking violently in his corner. He never thought that it would all end up like this. He was never supposed to be involved. All he had to do was watch. He did not want to go against them, at least, not yet.

“I never thought you had the balls. Honestly, I always thought that you were gay.” The novice laughed at Warse. “I’m Zach, pleased to finally kill you!” He reached out for Warse’s hand, but the priest drew a dagger and stabbed the outstretched palm.

“YOU-STUPID-FU*K!” He cursed. “I’M JUST BEING FRIENDLY HERE DAMMIT!” He nursed his hand like a wounded baby, kissing his palm and fingers.

He killed him. He killed him. He killed him. Gerard was in frenzy. His face was blank, he was empty.

Warse attacked. He delivered seven successive kicks at Zach’s side, but the novice seemed to be unaffected. He combined punches and kicks, each attack with unimaginable earth-shaking force. Zach just laughed at the priest’s futile attempts.

“Well? Are you done yet?” He gave out a hollow laugh. “Is that all the great Warse has?”

As an answer, five spirit orbs surrounded the priest. His hair was high in the air, possessed with electrical power. “Explosion Spirit.” He whispered. The spirits disappeared, but his body glowed a dark shade of red.

The novice was curious; he never saw something like this before. “What the hell are you doing priest? Are you still trying? HAH! Good luck.”

Gerard silently picked up his claymore. He brandished it first before he let it settle in his hand. He felt surges of power, as an unknown force took over his body. He killed him. He killed him. He killed him. He killed him.

Five more spirits were produced. Warse was edging towards the novice, each step created a ripple of electric current that filled the hut.

The novice stopped laughing, he looked concerned. He assumed a defensive stance, and he looked serious. “Go ahead. Try me. You will just end up bowing down to the Aesir.” Zach said.

“I am responsible for my actions. I follow my will, and no one else.” He simply said.

Gerard was standing up now; he too was filled with rage and grief. He held his claymore high and he aimed at the novice. He killed him. He killed him. He killed him.

Warse charged the god-hand, knowing that in his mind, this will be the end.

EXTREME FIST !!

GRAND CROSS !!

PROVIDENCE !!

There were no flashy lights. There was no grandiose end.

Above it all, there was just death.

Epilogue

Payon

The lower half of the brown falcon was still sticking out of the hunter’s mouth. It was jerking violently, trying to flap its wings free, but its movements were in vain. All it did was hurt his master more, sending him a step closer to death.

“Bill Jones, you are sentenced death by the Aesir. You will, therefore die a terrible death. No, do not worry, you will not be joining the damned in Niflheim, but you will be sent to Valhalla in Asgard. You will rise again to fight for Odin in Ragnarok.” A novice said crisply at the hunter.

After his spiel, he took a step aside; he made way for another man, who was holding a cross in his hand.

“You will die of decapitation, similar to the murder of Sora Jones, your mother.” A man with silver hair said. “May the gods bless you in your journey to Valhalla.”

The hunter cried, screamed and twisted, but none of this can stop the will of the Aesir. The silver haired man slashed the waist of the hunter, dividing him into two. It was once again a fountain of blood, showering both of the men in range.

“Aw! Damnit! We should get a raincoat or something. Cleaning these threads aren’t easy you know?” the novice irritably said.

The green eyed man just smiled at his partner as he wiped the blood off his face. “You like the speech?” He asked the novice.

“Well, it’s new, can’t say I like it though. It takes time.” he then turned to his partner and asked. “Why did Gerard even talk us into this? ‘Tell them the truth’ he says. I mean, what good will it do?”

“Sometimes, people just need to know reasons.” The silver haired man said. “Besides, that was his last request, we can’t deny him that.”

They were walking out of the woods and they made their way to town. Silence embraced them both, but it was broken by the novice.

“So, why the sudden change? You did quit, you know? I never thought that you’d fight by my side.” He asked.

“It was during that day, Zach. I just saw it in his eyes. I saw a world of chaos and deception in his teary globes. Then they were answered, my questions were answered. Death really is the only way to salvation. Their present lives aren’t tickets out of their wrong doings.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. In order to obtain order, sacrifices must be made.” Zach said dreamily. “It’s funny, you told me that you bow down to no one and you only follow your own will, but here you are!”

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” Warse chuckled softly. “Well, old habits die hard, I just realized that I can’t change.”

They were nearing the village now, their strides were quick and smooth.

“It’s a good thing you’re here, Warse.” Zach said. “With you around, I won’t have to worry about dying. I died once already, and I used up the favor of the Aesir. You got my back, don’t you? We are partners now right? …Warse?” He turned around to look at his partner, but Warse was not there.

Then, without warning, a damascus hit the back of Zach’s head. The blade made it’s way down, resting at the base of his spine.

“Don’t worry, I got your back.” Warse whispered in the ear of the fallen god-hand.



THE END